


The Night Belongs To Us

by BlessedMasochist



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Character Turned Into Vampire, M/M, Vampire Edward, Vampire Sex, and I love our boys, i love vampires, so here you go, vampire Oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26277001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedMasochist/pseuds/BlessedMasochist
Summary: Entry #020-630:I am concerned.Despite my indication in the previous entry, I have not sought the advice of a physician, as I am certain now I would be considered insane. It has been four days since I have eaten a proper meal, or even felt true hunger, despite my efforts. Even my most favored meals are tasteless and seem to churn in my stomach. I am almost always ill after these attempts, yet my weight has not dropped in the slightest, and despite a persistent headache, there is no indication that I am malnourished. This is an impossibility. Further phenomena include my now perfect eyesight, my uncanny ability to hear my neighbor's conversation two floors down, and strange aversion to light. Though, the latter might be excused by the perpetual headache that I fear shall now plague me for the rest of my days.Edward is attacked one evening while walking home from the G.C.P.D. an event not uncommon on the streets of Gotham, but something happened against the grimy cobblestone that changed Edward forever.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	The Night Belongs To Us

**Author's Note:**

> Something silly I found while thumbing through my archives. I thought I would add an ending and post it for anyone interested. I hope you guys like vampires as much as I do!

Gotham had been a city without sun since its founding; none of its residents could recall a day without some sort of ominous cloud cover, even in the time before smog filled the skies above it. The nights were long and dark, and more often than not it rained; that night was no exception.

What little rays of the sun that managed to squeeze through the clouds had disappeared before six o'clock, leaving the streets dark and damp as the acidic rain dripped down the overpass onto the worn vinyl of a muted green umbrella held by a young man named Edward Nygma, who was maintaining a calculated pace on his walk home from the Gotham City Police Department, where he worked second shift as a forensic scientist. His greatest ambition was to become a medical examiner and finally rid the dispatch of that insufferably patronizing Dr. Guerra, who never seemed to understand his attempts to help. 

He stretched his long legs over a large puddle with ease as he continued past the corner store, purposefully taking a left where he would ordinarily take a right- it was an experiment. Edward suspected he could shave an impressive fifty-three seconds off his commute if he cut through a nearby alley instead of taking the sidewalk by Grundy Street. Paying no heed to the bustle of the nightlife beginning to emerge, he brushed past a rusted chain-link fence without pause, goal in mind. 

Ordinarily, Edward took pride in his keen attention to detail, but the thrill of saving six and a half minutes a week had him striding through the muddy alley without a second thought. His dark brown eyes passed over the sickly looking man that crouched against the porous brick wall along the path.

"C'mere boy..." 

The ragged man's eyes were dark and hollow, papery thin skin stretched over his skull like an ill-fitting mask, overgrown nails jagged and yellowed as he snatched at Edward's pant leg, tripping him up. 

He stumbled with a startled gasp, umbrella catching an untimely gust of wind and wrenching itself from his fingers to tumble down the alley as he crashed to the ground with a muddy squelch. Edward managed to stagger to his knees for only a moment before the weight of his attacker forced him against the ground. His face was pressed against the filth roughly as the buttons at the collar of his raincoat gave way to the frenzied tugging. 

"My wallet is in my back pocket, please-!" Edward found his voice, hoping it might carry to someone, anyone who might save him from the attack.

"Shh shh shh shhh…" the man insisted desperately, his filthy mouth against Edward's neck sent a disgusted chill down his spine, suddenly nauseated at the thought of what might follow. 

He twisted and writhed beneath the other man, crying out in vain for help. Gotham's number one rule won out: no heroes. No one was coming to save him, and he could not help himself. There was a sharp pinch on the side of his neck, causing his body to still on instinct alone. "What are you…" His eyes rolled back, a distinct pull deep within his core draining him, weakening him. Feebly, he tried once more to hit the other man, limp white hand smacking against his head, yanking his dirty, matted hair. Soon, he lost the fight entirely, head lolling against the other man's as he slipped into oblivion. 

Entry #020-628:

I was attacked yesterday.

The trial run of my streamlined return commute was interrupted by an unexpected factor. I awoke several hours later with intense pain at the crux of my neck. Upon further inspection, I discovered my assailant bit through the epidermis, but the carotid and jugular were left untouched, which I suspect prevented me from bleeding out. I sought medical attention and received permission to take two days from work to recover. 

Entry #020-629:

Something is wrong.

The wounds on my neck have all but vanished, except for two faint silver scars. After the requisite two days off from work, I am still feeling ill after the attack. Fever, aches, trembling. I have evacuated my bowels and urinated no less than five times, and vomited twice. This is only noteworthy because I have not eaten anything substantive since that night. If this persists, I shall seek medical attention.

Entry #020-630:

I am concerned. 

Despite my indication in the previous entry, I have not sought the advice of a physician, as I am certain now I would be considered insane. It has been four days since I have eaten a proper meal, or even felt true hunger, despite my efforts. Even my most favored meals are tasteless and seem to churn in my stomach. I am almost always ill after these attempts, yet my weight has not dropped in the slightest, and despite a persistent headache, there is no indication that I am malnourished. This is an impossibility. Further phenomena include my now perfect eyesight, my uncanny ability to hear my neighbor's conversation two floors down, and strange aversion to light. Though, the latter might be excused by the perpetual headache that I fear shall now plague me for the rest of my days.

Entry 021-001

I have since moved this study to a new journal as I am worried about discovery, and I fear I'm going mad. My return to the GCPD after a week sick-leave had been uneventful for the most part. I am unsure what that odious cretin did to me in the alley that night, but whatever he slipped me has lingered in the blood and seems to have altered my chemistry somehow. The bullpen was a cacophony of noise, uniformed offices bustling criminals in, detectives boasting loudly of their conquests, civilians coming to make their riotous complaints. It was too much to bear all at once and I was nearly sick from it. It certainly did nothing for this unceasing headache. 

I still have not been able to keep anything down. I am becoming increasingly worried. 

Miss Kringle welcomed me back with a smile.

Entry 021-002

The headache is getting worse. I don't understand how I'm still alive. I woke today and realized halfway through my morning routine that I wasn't breathing. I fear the consequences of reporting my findings. 

I gave Kristen a riddle today, but I don't think she understood… Perhaps it wasn't as brilliant as I'd hoped, she seems put off with me, but her presence is the only thing that seems to soothe the throbbing pain in my temples; I've begun a new plan to win her affections.

She smells so lovely. 

Entry 021-003

I cannot describe how much I loathe Kristen’s new boyfriend Officer Dougherty. 

There have been no physical changes in regards to my ever-expanding list of permutations. Life has returned to normal, except where Miss Kringle is concerned. I was going to finally make my affections known, in a way she would respond positively to this time, but then that brute entered the scene. 

He is not worthy of her. 

Entry 021-005

I am a murderer.

Officer Doughtery is dead. I intend to destroy these records, though I've removed any evidence of the crime and disposed of the body. No one will find him. 

I was outside Kristen's apartment, listening to her sing in the kitchen while she cooked her dinner when he approached from the other side of the street. He confronted me and I defended myself, but my newly increased strength overpowered him. He was dead before I became conscious of what was happening. I was able to conceal the blood staining the front of my clothes beneath the windbreaker in the front seat of my car and put Dougherty in the trunk before anyone discovered the crime.

I just noticed that my headache is gone. 

Entry 021-009

Kristen did not detect the riddle in my note.

I should be grateful, I cannot even imagine the disaster my life would be if the G.C.P.D. discovered their forensics scientist murdered an officer and used city equipment to cover it up.

I really ought to burn this whole journal, but I discovered the other night that I can see perfectly well in incredibly low light. I could differentiate the slightest hues even in the pitch black. It was as if the night had come alive around me. As it has that night I  stabbed ...I don't like to think about it.

Entry 021-011

Kristen has become much more inclined to spend time with me since Dougherty left town. 

She agreed to a double date with Jim and Lee, and we stayed up quite late. Kristen looked beautiful, and it would have been the perfect evening but I had a hard time keeping the fondue down, possibly due to the slow creeping return of that persistent headache. I wish I could enjoy this victory, but I cannot help but feel like more of a freak than usual. I keep forgetting to breathe. 

Entry 021-017

Kristen is dead. 

I tried to stop her from leaving, she just wouldn't listen. No one ever listens! I just wanted to talk to her and now...I didn't mean to, I really didn't. 

My headache is gone. No more pulsing anguish behind my eyes morning, noon, and night.

I did find something very interesting in the woods. 

\--

Edward paced in front of the bed, long legs taking him from one end of the loft to the other as he watched the sleeping bundle with interest. His prize from the woods had not risen all day and now it was six in the evening and Edward was growing impatient. 

Sighing heavily, he sat on the edge of the bed and touched the other man's face. "Rise and shine, sleepy head~"

Oswald had been struggling to stay conscious in the doorway of the broken down trailer he had been hiding in since sundown. Suddenly, as though his chin was grasped and jerked upward by an unseen force, his gaze was wrenched out towards the treeline, where he could see the tall thin silhouette of a man in the evening fog.

_ 'There…!' _

He staggered forward, dead leaves crunching unevenly beneath his feet as his battered frame forced itself towards Edward in a desperate bid for self-preservation.

"Please… Help me…" he managed to grit out before his vision went black and he collapsed on the dirt ground of the clearing. 

Now he was in a bed, swathed in flannel pajamas and several thick blankets. 

Slowly, Oswald wrenched his eyes open to scan the room. A pale hand interceded his vision, retreating away from his face. He snatched it quickly with inhuman speed and sunk his teeth into Edward's wrist with a snap, nose wrinkling as he found dead blood at his lips. "Hhh-ugh!" he hissed angrily, disgusted by the taste. Dark, clot-speckled blood dribbled down his chin, and he let what little he tasted fall out of his mouth; he looked entirely too offended for a man that just attempted to drink the blood of a complete stranger. 

Edward staggered back, falling off the bed with a shout as he was attacked. His pulse quickened, mind flashing back to that horrible night in the alley. He stood quickly and strode back over to the bed, grabbing the front of Oswald's shirt, and pulled him up with a snarl. "I have some questions for you, Mr. Penguin."

"You know who I am?" he grunted, a sharp pain radiating down his shoulder as he was yanked forward. "You brought me back from the woods… you didn't bring anything for me to eat?" He was a petulant man, but he looked incredibly weak. 

Brown eyes widened with incredulity. "Everyone knows who you are, Mr. Penguin, though until just now I did not know how much you could truly help me." He released his hold on the other man, sitting back down next to him, adjusting his glasses self-consciously. "I...I might have something for you to consume, but I want your assurance you will answer some questions for me." 

"Fine," he replied weakly, settling back against the mattress with a sigh as memories he tried to push away flickered into his mind. His blue eyes were tired, staring up at Edward, empty and haunted. 

Edward stood and went over to the refrigerator, pulling two blood packets from within. "It's been mostly trial and error, I have to admit. For a few months, I didn't even know this is what would sustain me…" He handed both to Oswald and stood beside to watch. 

He tore into the first bag without hesitation, gulping down the cold blood messily. He paused, groaning softly as an immediate sense of relief settled over him. "It's been- well it feels like weeks… You didn't know? How did you not know?" He poked a hole in the second bag, savoring it a bit more than the first, and he took the time to wipe the mess from his cheeks and chin, licking each finger clean; for a moment, his teeth looked incredibly sharp. 

Edward's eyes widened as he watched the other man gulp down the blood. He swore he felt his cheeks flush, though he knew he hadn't fed enough to cause such a reaction. He swallowed, licking his lips as blood dripped down Oswald's pale chin, soiling his top. "When I was attacked no one told me...about," he gestured to Oswald's continued feeding. 

"Someone attacked you?" he replied, sounding less agitated as he settled back into the covers, rolling his shoulder with a wince. It was healing slowly now that his body had the energy to devote to the task. 

He nodded, biting his lip as he watched the other man lick the blood from his fingers. "A few months ago. I...I've been trying to discover more about this condition since then. It's been a struggle, to say the least."

Oswald cocked his head in puzzlement. "You mean you just became this way and no one stayed to show you how to live? I've been gifted my entire life." He seemed so proud of what Edward had come to view as a curse. 

He nodded, looking down ashamed of his predicament. Then his head snapped up as he realized what Oswald had said. "Wait, you've...always been this way?"

He nodded, brow furrowing in sadness as he recalled his beloved mother and her untimely demise at the hands of Tabitha Galavan. "I never really knew I was any different until I was maybe twelve or thirteen and my mother told me about the blood she'd been putting in her cooking." A sad chuckle followed the recollection, heart aching with loss. 

He returned to Oswald's side, wide brown eyes locked on the other man's blue ones. "Do you believe in fate?"

The smaller man eyed him, distrustful but curious. "I think so, you saved me for a reason." 

"I saved you because you're a known killer," he replied honestly. "I was hoping you could help me in that regard. Being a forensic specialist I know  _ how _ to kill, and how not to get caught, but, well, there's nothing like hearing it from a murderer." He chuckled, adjusting his glasses nervously. "However, now you could help me with everything! This is incredible!"

Oswald looked slightly taken aback by his enthusiasm, but his temper was satiated for the time being and he entertained his savior with a tired stare. "What do you need to know?"

He took a deep breath and began with his most pressing question. "What happened to me?" 

"Some call us monsters, some think we're a legend, my mother used to say we were gifted… Up to you to decide I suppose. You've been turned- infected, but it's strange that someone would change you without the intent to look out for you afterward. You said you were attacked?" He picked a fleck of dried blood from the corner of his mouth. "It's possible your transition was accidental." 

He swallowed, taking the information in without comment. "Blood sustains us, as I've gathered. Do we have any major weaknesses? I've noted heightened senses: hearing, vision, vestibular, and proprioception at the very least." 

Oswald blinked at Edward's impressive vocabulary. "You need blood, bare minimum- without that, you'll lose all the advantages and your body won't be able to focus its energy on the other stuff. He pulled back the loose flannel pajama top to peel off the bandages beneath, revealing that the gunshot wound Edward had dressed was healing, skin puckered, and thickly scarred. "I hadn't eaten in a while, this was sticking around longer than it should have… You'll heal from most things, but any wounds made with iron will resist healing- as will attacks from other people like us." 

Edward's gaze trailed down to Oswald's leg, thinking of his famed limp. "So you were attacked by someone who knew how to harm you," he murmured, eyes clapping back on the wound on his shoulder. 

"Correct," he replied bitterly. "Direct sunlight will significantly weaken you, even blister your skin, but Gotham rarely sees a day without smog so it's usually safe to move around during the day. I prefer to wake at sundown, the residual light gives me a headache sometimes……"

"I know all about that headache," he laughed nervously, shifting next to the other man. "I spent the first month in agony. I suppose the catalyst for change was when I killed officer Dougherty..." 

"A month without blood must have been agony...Did you kill the first person you fed on?" Oswald asked incredulously. 

Edward opened his mouth then closed it, looking down at his hands. "I...didn't realise I needed blood to live until later," he admitted. "I killed officer Dougherty for...another reason. I never fed on him. Not really." 

Oswald gaped openly. "I see…" He was guilty of the occasional overzealous feeding, and certainly wasn't above murder in his line of work, but it seemed unlike the nervous, gangly man who stood wringing his hands at the foot of the bed.

He gave him a tight smile and turned toward the kitchen, taking the emptied blood packets with him for disposal. "Thank you for answering my questions, Mr. Penguin. I am very grateful for your help."

"You've earned that much for dragging me out of the woods to a more comfortable location… we're near Grundy street, yes? I think I recognize the neon sign across the way." he curled on his side comfortably, finding the accommodations much more tolerable than the broken-down trailer he was hiding in previously. "I shouldn't stay long."

"You're safer here than anywhere else," he murmured. "Whoever is after you, either presumes you dead or ineffectual. Here, you can gather your strength, plan your revenge." He turned back toward the bed, dark eyes glittering in the neon light. 

"I don't know if that's what I want anymore," he sighed. "My mother is dead, my henchman scattered to the wind, maybe it would be best if I just… disappeared, left Gotham."

"You could run, of course, but with Galavan running Gotham you would most likely get about three blocks before he found you. Let me  _ help _ you, and, in turn, you help me with this," he gestured vaguely, "affliction."

"It's not an affliction," he snapped quietly, looking sullen. "I'll stay awhile if you insist, I shouldn't leave you helpless." Perhaps it was because it was what his mother would have insisted upon, but he felt a need to protect the confused man until he understood how to survive on his own. 

He returned to the bedside, sitting on the other side of Oswald with his legs crossed. "What do you mean, 'it's not an affliction'?"

"I've never seen it like that; it's never been a detriment to me, but an advantage given to me to use for my success- maybe that's because I've never known myself to be any other way," he sighed, pushing away the memories of his mother's death in favour of more pleasant ones. "Mother was given her gift by the man she loved when she was my age- I was born with these abilities. She always told me that I was destined to be a great man…"

He smiled softly, adjusting his glasses. "I would like to see it the way you do. After Kristen...I just want answers."

Oswald glanced at him, pausing to weigh whether or not he had the energy to listen before he spoke. "Who is Kristen?" he inquired finally. 

"She is... _ was _ my girlfriend, and the first person from whom I fed." He looked down at the blood-covered blankets. "Now isn't the time for that discussion, though. You need to rest, and tomorrow night we can continue. Thank you for answering my questions." 

Oswald dropped the subject without argument, feeling peckish. "Hm, do you have any ice cream?" he inquired softly, perplexing Edward. "Chocolate maybe?" he murmured under his breath, rattling off a few snacks he was fond of before trailing off to look at Edward expectantly. 

That stopped Edward short, the young man turning on his heels with an absolutely bewildered look on his face, dark brows drawn together. "Ice cream?"

"Well, blood is a little savory don't you think? I usually chase with something sweet if I don't drink with a meal…" Oswald explained, as though it were obvious. 

Edward stood speechless, still trying to piece together Oswald's nonchalant request. "You can consume food, regular food? When I tried it made me ill...And after I discovered what I truly needed, I threw what was left in my cupboards away."

"There's no food here at all?" he bellowed rather childishly, sitting up with a grimace. "You need blood to function. If you're well fed you can still have food!" Oswald fell back against the bed sulkily.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Well forgive me my ignorance. No one has been here to tell me these little idiosyncrasies!” He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood and stopped himself from snapping further at the indignant little bird sitting entitled in his bed. “I can get you some food tomorrow after work.” 

"...Sorry."

Oswald rarely apologized, but he felt it was owed. "I forgot you're new to this. I can't imagine being changed suddenly and left alone to figure it all out." 

“It’s been difficult, but you’ve been kind enough to answer my questions. I’m sorry for snapping at you, Mr. Penguin. I think I’m just tired; it’s been an exhausting few days…” 

He nodded, settling back under the comforter and scooting to give the other man room to lay down when he was ready. He thought nothing of sharing the bed, having grown up sharing with his mother on occasion. "I appreciate your hospitality," he murmured, shutting his eyes. 

Edward did not wish to impose upon the other man’s rest, but after a few fitful hours tossing and turning on the make-shift sofa Edward ambled over to the bed and fell next to Oswald. As soon as his head hit the pillow he was asleep at last, not waking until well into the morning. 

Oswald awoke in the wee hours curled about the other man and was careful not to wake him as he extracted himself. He was restless, feeling trapped in the apartment but grateful to be alive. The young man was intrigued by his savior, finding his inexperience strangely fascinating. Quietly, he paced by the window, only returning to the bed when the sun began to rise above the smog-filled city, though it could hardly be called daylight. Selfishly, he settled against Edward once more, tender and lonely heart seeking comfort even from the strange young man. 

By the time Edward awoke, head fuzzy, but body pleasantly warm, it was mid-morning. He blinked, vision filled with soft dark hair. He murmured in confusion, arms wrapping themselves around the bundle in his arms as he instinctively nuzzled against the throat near his lips. His eyes then looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand causing his heart to skip. “Shit!” He jumped out of the bed, throwing the covers off him and Oswald as he began to run around the apartment. He was desperately late! “Oh, dear! Oh no, no, no!” 

Oswald looked less than amused to be awoken, blue eyes sharp and mean as they glared at him from the burrow of covers. "You work during the- oh, right…" he mumbled, rolling over with a huff. "Bring some groceries on your way back then." 

Edward barely registered the other man had spoken as he ran out the door. Despite his panic, no one noticed his absence, and he was able to get through the day with relative ease. He made the pre-planned excuses to Dr. Thompkins about Miss Kringle’s absence, and the rest of the day went smoothly. By the afternoon his headache was beginning to return, and though he snapped at the grocer, he managed to make it back to Grundy without further delay. 

Oswald was where he had left him in the bed. The tuft of black hair poking up from beneath the quilt belied a guilelessness that Edward was certain no one else alive had ever seen. He stopped for a moment at the kitchen counter and watched him, dark eyes taking in the way his fingers curled against the fabric of the pillow as if clinging to something, trying to hold it close. The way his body curled in on itself protectively. He was such a proud, austere man when he was awake, boisterous and rude, and demanding. When he was asleep...Edward could tell that Oswald Cobblepot was a man who had been hurt, wounded deeply and something had made him reach his breaking point. 

Perhaps a show of gratitude was in order. 

When Oswald awoke again it was to the sound of muffled cries and shouts. Edward humming as he dragged a man bound and gagged with a burlap sack over his head. It was past dusk now, the sun had set nearly an hour before. “Good evening, Mr. Penguin. I’ve brought you a present.” 

"I do love takeout, but I don't know if I'm really in the mood; who is this?" he asked, sitting up with a stretch. 

"This is Mr. Leonard," he said with a vicious grin, gripping his skull as he stared at Oswald. "He's for you. A gift," he explained. "You're probably hungry, right? And I thought perhaps it might be a nice way to get vengeance against Galavan. You see, he works for him. Well, he did before he was arrested." 

Oswald was impressed by his boldness, and this seemed to present itself as a good opportunity as any to teach Edward the finer points of feeding. He slid out of bed with a stretch and ambled over to the bound and gagged offering with vague interest. He could tell immediately he wasn't to his preference, but perhaps Edward would fancy him- not that preference matters when one is in need of sustenance.

"Hmm… why don't you go first," he offered, curious to see how Edward went about it. 

Edward's brows furrowed and he shook his head slightly at Oswald's words. The other man was meant to show  _ him _ the finer art of murder and in turn also gain a renewed sense of purpose. "N-no, that's not what he's for, Mr. Penguin."

"Why not? You brought him for me, so I should get to decide what we use him for- do you even know how to use your teeth?" he inquired curiously.

The image of Kristen, thin fabric of her lace trim chemise the only barrier between her sweat-soaked back and the chipped paint of the door, her bright eyes looked so beautiful wide with fear… He paled, skin growing clammy at the thought of the dark, thick blood bubbling from the cavernous wound he had created, like a torrid tributary of lacerated vessels and shredded muscle.

"No-no," he stuttered. "I prefer drinking from the bag. I would like to see how you do it, if I may. You're meant to be teaching me, yes?" 

Oswald waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not in the mood for revenge right now, put him away. Why don't we have a drink and eat some food- it's been a couple of months since you've had a proper meal right? Surely there's something you've been craving?" He smirked, lips parting to reveal a set of elongated canines, Edward was certain they had not been that way when he was speaking to him before. After a moment they sunk back into his gum line seamlessly. Oswald was enjoying the attention. 

Edward nodded, dragging Leonard along the floor toward the closet. Once he was situated and away Edward returned to the kitchen. He got a few blood packets for them both and handed Oswald his share. "Honestly?" he asked quietly. "I've missed Chinese food"

"Mm I'll have teriyaki beef with fried rice," Oswald requested immediately, poking a small hole in the thick plastic bag to slurp at the offered blood noisily.

Edward laughed, unable to help but be delighted at Oswald's demanding impetulance. "You truly are a king, aren't you. I've read all about you," he confessed. "The umbrella boy who would be king."

Oswald turned to him, revealing a rare, genuine smile at the flattering revelation. "Really? I do imagine myself as royalty one day. I just need Gotham to listen to what I have to say…" 

"I'm certain if anyone could get Gotham to bend to their will, it would be you, Oswald," he murmured sincerely, turning toward the kitchen to find his mobile phone. Once located he put their order in and set the makeshift table in preparation for their feast. "You will be joining me at the table, yes?" he asked with a smirk. 

Oswald nodded, following after him with the soft uneven falls of his bare feet as he poked about in the kitchen cabinets. "Some wine perhaps? I think this ought to be a proper meal, after all. I really can't believe you stopped eating food, I would be  _ miserable  _ without it." He had made himself quite at home, it seemed. 

Edward turned with a raised brow. "It's been a rather convoluted road thus far, Oswald. Wine sounds good; it's in the lower cabinet on your right. The corkscrew is in the drawer next to the sink." 

"Ah, perfect," he bent unevenly to retrieve a bottle of merlot, balancing it in one hand as he pulled open the drawer. "I hope that I've been helpful so far- I owe you for saving me after all.

Oswald was a man of give and take, reciprocity, tit-for-tat; nothing was given without something else in return, and this situation was no exception. He had resolved to assist Edward, help him grow comfortable with his new gifts, as his Mother had helped him. In a way, it was as much for her memory as it was for his own personal morals. 

Edward retrieved the glasses, brushing against Oswald in the small kitchen as he moved around him. It felt oddly comfortable to be moving about the cramped space with the other man, reaching over him to get this, or gently pushing by him to grab that. The easy domesticity was not lost on Edward and the camaraderie continued as they moved to the table; their dinner had arrived. They ate and drank deeply, Edward not knowing when, if ever, he had this much  _ fun _ before. Soon their conversation turned to drunken singing, Edward using his chopsticks as drumsticks to beat a melody on the bottles and glasses. 

Oswald leaned forward with a smirk during a lull in the performance, elbows on the table. "Say… Why don't you go get Mr. Leonard?" he asked mischievously, in a far better mood than he had been in several weeks. If Edward wanted to watch, he'd give him a show- and perhaps entice him into having a go himself.

Edward grinned widely and hopped up. He went to the closet and retrieved the inert form of Mr. Leonard, frowning as he realised their prey was unconscious. He dragged him to the centre of the room atop a large tarp and stepped back with a low hum. "Seems our new friend doesn't wish to play, Oswald." 

"That's alright, he'll wake up eventually. You wanted to observe, did you not?" Oswald smirked, slowly unbuttoning his borrowed pajama top, not wishing to soil it while he worked. He shrugged it off his shoulders with relative ease, draping it over the end of the bed nonchalantly. It was astounding how unaffected he seemed by his wounds, bearing them proudly as he limped toward their captive. 

Predictably, Theo Galavan, an informed hunter, had shot him with an iron bullet, but it was a through-and-through, so the wound was healing, albeit slowly. His range of motion had improved, though he couldn't raise his arm above his head just yet. Fish Mooney had not only an iron bat, but the power of another sanguinarian, and the severe damage she dealt to his leg combined with the lack of care had left him permanently damaged for the time being. 

Edward nodded silently, watching Oswald with rapt attention.

"Now, like you, I do prefer the refined elegance and convenience of drinking pre-packaged blood," he began, tipping the captive's limp head to the side, exposing his neck, "but you won't always have that, trust me- it's important you learn how to do it the old fashioned way."

He bared his teeth, a second sharper set sliding into place with ease. Without hesitation he bent down and nipped a perfect crescent puncture over the vessels of Leonard's neck, then leaned back to show Edward how simple it was, teeth shimmering with dark crimson. "See? Easy access." Oswald lapped at the wound as it bubbled forth slowly. 

Edward bit his lip as Oswald's lips and teeth descended onto Mr. Leonard's neck. It seemed effortless when the other man pricked him, allowed the blood to seep over the skin, small droplets trailing ever downward until they disappeared into his shirt. He could feel that hunger again, the need pulsing behind his eyes. He stepped forward as if transfixed and caressed the line of Oswald's jaw where his mouth connected to the wound. 

He shivered, the bridge of his nose wrinkled, pupils blown wide as he slowly retracted his teeth and pulled away from his prey, gazing up at Edward with ruby red lips. 

Leonard whimpered softly. 

"Would you like a taste?" He asked, chest heaving gently with the intensity of his actions. He always felt incredibly alive when he drank from another person, empowered by their loss of blood, fueled by an almost animalistic instinct to gain, to survive. 

It was absolutely entrancing watching him feed, the other man's prominent adam's apple bobbing with each mouthful of blood he swallowed. The look in Oswald's eyes was captivating. Wild blue depth pulling him in. He wanted nothing more than to get lost within Oswald, to devote himself completely to him. He could only nod mutely at the other man's question, lowering his lips to their victim's neck. Warm ambrosia filled him with desire. His pulse quickened as his hands wrapped around the bound man's shoulders, inadvertently brushing against Oswald's chest. He groaned low and deep within his throat, mouth working over the wound greedily. His clumsy teeth cut into their captive’s throat, a slow rip pulling a gurgling protest from the dying man as Edward lapped and sucked at the river of blood pouring from their victim. It was warm over his tongue, nearly hot in comparison to the refrigerated packets he had grown used to, the strange manufactured taste of anticoagulants absent in the blood of a living being. 

Oswald's fingertips caressed his cheek gently, encouragingly, as Leonard continued to whine in lame protest of his fate. "Very good…" he breathed, cheeks flushed pink with life and raw energy, unable to keep from pressing himself against Edward as he continued to urge him on. "Beautiful…" 

The praise spurred him on as he gulped and lapped at the pulsing throat beneath him. He wanted more, needed everything this pathetic man could offer him. He arched back against Oswald, wanting the reassurance that he was there with him through all of this. The blood began to slow, more difficult now to pull from Mr. Leonard and Edward could've cried in disappointment. 

Oswald was unsurprised to find his new friend growing aroused as his curious hands wandered his body, equally interested in taking what this man could offer. "Get him on the floor… he's dead but fresh, he has more blood in him." He was curious to see how far Edward was willing to go in this frenzied state, baring his teeth with a soft exhale as their eyes locked ferociously. Oswald loved the raw, naive energy the other man exuded. 

Edward compiled without delay, all but throwing the limp figure of Mr. Leonard onto his back on the tarp. He kicked the chair away and wrenched his prey's arms above his head, forcing the circulatory system to increase what little remained of the blood flow. He felt wild and unhinged, straddling Mr. Leonard in front of Oswald. Growling, as he sucked and lapped at the blood trickling slowly from their victim's neck. He ought to be embarrassed by such a display, mortified that his idol was seeing him in such a state, but the blood on his tongue was filling him ecstatic bliss. 

Oswald growled eagerly, following Edward's lead and folding their victim's leg upward before latching onto the other side of his neck, face inches from Edward's as he helped himself to the coordinating vessels. 

He could feel the heat of the other man against him, powerful and sublime as they shared Edward's meals. When Mr. Leonard was truly spent Edward released him and shifted without delay to press Oswald against the soiled and bloodied tarp. He looked down at him with a tempestuous dark gaze, like two tunnels devoid of light.

Enraptured by the display, Oswald did not struggle against him, surrendering to his dominance with a toothy smirk. "Mm… Can't feed from me, but I can give you something else," he breathed hotly pressing his loosely clothed erection against his thigh invitingly as he leaned in to lap the stray blood from Edward's chin shamelessly. 

Though rather tight-laced upon the first examination, Oswald was not witless when it came to pleasures of the flesh. The thrilling bliss and rush of energy was orgasmic in its own right, but occasionally he craved the flesh of another and lured his victims that way. Those, he usually left alive before disappearing into the misty night without a trace. 

He had no intention of leaving Edward, moaning unabashedly as he vied for the other man's bloody mouth.

Edward stopped himself from reaching for Oswald's white throat. Instead, he caressed along the soft line of his jaw, staring at his ruby mouth. Slowly and yet all at once he captured the other man's lips in a breathtaking kiss, a clash of teeth and tongues and moans.

He invited Edward's tongue into his mouth eagerly, pleased by his lack of hesitation. The bitter taste of iron swirled with the aftertaste of wine made his head spin with lust, all but rutting against the taller man's leg as he tugged haphazardly on his now-soiled shirt in his attempts to remove it. 

Edward groaned into the kiss, his long fingers caressing the expanse of Oswald's chest, down over the ribs, across the flat of his stomach, anywhere within reach was his to explore. His mouth and tongue soon followed, mapping out a bloody trail of kisses and pinching bites. He had never felt like this before, free, uninhibited, powerful. He wanted everything Oswald Cobblepot could offer him, and he would pay any price to gain it. 

It was a new and rare treat, Oswald thought, to finally have someone on his level like this, someone to match his almost animalistic ferocity. He finally pried Edward's shirt from his body and lapped at the thin, sweaty layer of blood he found beneath the soaked fabric, leaving several crescent-shaped punctures over the surface of his chest.

The tarp beneath the pair crinkled with every movement, shifting shallow pools of blood beneath them. It was a beautiful mess. 

"Fuck, Oswald," he panted against his throat, pressing his hard cock against his hip. He could think of little else but Oswald's pale moonlight thighs parting for him, the pleasure of sinking between them, of connecting in a way that only they could. Oswald wasn't afraid of him, was a creature just like him! They were equally matched and Oswald could give Edward everything he needed. 

Without another thought, Edward tore the pyjama pants from Oswald's hips, leaving him bare and exposed to his hungry gaze. 

"If you're asking for permission the answer is yes~" he smirked, looking like a fallen angel as he lay against the backdrop of the black tarp, beautiful pale skin stained with smears of rusty crimson. 

He gripped Oswald's thigh, pushing it up as he slid down to lie between his parted legs. Woefully inexperienced as he was, he allowed pure desire to guide him. His tongue lapped at Oswald's pretty flushed cock, teasing it slowly to elicit soft moans from the other man.

Always fond of being treated like royalty, Oswald allowed him to explore, gasping and rolling his hips hedonistically as he sucked blood from his fingertips with a content groan.

Edward's ever-curious fingers pressed between Oswald's round cheeks and teased at his entrance slowly. His mouth began to work at the head of his cock, sharp teeth scraping lightly at the sides. 

Oswald whined, doing his best to lie still and let the other man satisfy himself. It was difficult, as his exuberant naivety had led to quite delightful overstimulation. "Mmm Edward, watch your teeth…" he purred softly, smearing blood in his sweaty dark brown hair as he gently tangled his fingers through it, guiding him passively. 

Edward looked up, deep brown eyes filled with lust and longing as he swiped his tongue from base to tip lewdly. He rutted against Oswald's leg as he stroked his cock, mind deliciously blank for once in his life. 

"That's so good" he praised, craning his neck to admire the beautiful creature between his legs, despite the ache in his slowly healing shoulder. "Do you want more?"

He growled, a deep and primal sound. "Yes...yes please." He lapped at Oswald's cock, knowing he was making a fool of himself but not caring. 

"Ah~ then take me to the bed and fuck me properly," he said loftily, gripping Edward's chin 

Edward hopped up, nearly slipping on the tarp, but righting himself easily enough. He bent down and lifted Oswald into his arms, carrying him to bed with absurd ease, well-fed as he was. He threw the other man down and stalked toward him with a feral smile. "Mine."

"We'll see," Oswald growled, blood-smeared torso and thighs looking delectable as he spread his legs once more. "I don't think you'll hurt me but- use lube, please," he murmured, cheeks flushing in a brief moment of shyness. 

"Lubricant, yes," he murmured, pausing for a moment. He fumbled around his bedside drawer until at last he came upon some, holding it aloft in triumph. He slicked his fingers and spread Oswald's legs gently before pushing two inside. 

He accepted them with relative ease, urging Edward on with soft, encouraging moans. "Very good, good boy." 

The praise shot straight through Edward, forcing a shiver through his body. "Nngh, fuck, I can't wait to be inside you, Oswald…" He curled his fingers, wanting to pleasure his lover. He wanted to see the other man writhe against him. He reached up, stroking Oswald's cock with a slick hand. 

"Then don't wait," he hissed desperately, eager to finally feel Edward's generous endowment, to lose himself in the frenzy of pleasure. 

He looked up, sincere even in his frenzy. "I don't wish to hurt you."

"I promise you won't," he assured, growing impatient. His pulse was buzzing at his temples, the heat of his skin was almost unbearable, yet he wanted more, needed Edward closer still. "Please, I want to feel you inside me."

That was all the assurance he needed. Slowly, he pulled his fingers out, stroking them around the pretty puckered entrance as he got distracted for a moment at the pattern of blood glistening on Oswald's stomach. He leaned down and lapped a stripe off his hip.

Oswald squirmed.

"Edward focus." 

He blinked, fingers ceasing their teasing movements. "Sorry…" He slicked his cock with a groan, head rolled back in pleasure. He grabbed Oswald's hips and pulled him roughly forward, lifting his ass up as he pressed his cock against his entrance. "Is this what you want, Mr. Penguin~" he asked with a low growl.

"Yes," he hissed fiercely, delighted by this dominance drawn out of the ordinarily timid scientist. "Don't think, just feel." 

He laughed softly at the command and pushed the head of his aching cock inside the other man. "Oh fuck, Oswald," he breathed, resisting the urge to grab the other man's hips and bottom out. Slowly, painfully, achingly slowly, he pushed further inside until he was fully seated against the other man. Trembling, Edward held Oswald flush against him, pressing his forehead against his trying desperately not to make a fool of himself and end their lovemaking before it truly began. 

It was a delightful stretch, but Oswald moaned outright when his lover finally sunk inside entirely- an impressive seven inches. He pushed his forehead against Edward's with a quiet gasp, wrapping his legs around his waist tightly. 

"Y-you feel so incredible...better than anything...better than blood." "

"How sweet of you to say…" Oswald snickered softly, endeared by how innocent he still seemed. 

He began to thrust slowly, pulling almost fully out before pushing back inside once more, deep and full inside his beloved. "Os...Oswald," he moaned, holding him close. He kissed and licked at his throat, sucking deep purple marks in the sensitive pale skin.

"That feels so good," Oswald said breathlessly, savoring each slow roll of Edward's hips. 

It felt so good to forget the outside world- to forget Theo Galavan and the burning anger that accompanied thoughts of him, to forget about his dead mother and the crushing sadness her memory brought him. 

Nothing occupied Oswald's mind but the pleasure Edward was providing, gasping praises and encouragement as he began to stroke himself roughly, baring his teeth. 

Edward sped his thrusts, emboldened by Oswald's praise, the feeling of being inside him, the pleasure coursing through him. "Fuck..fuck...fuck…"

"Nnn I'm almost there, give me more!" Oswald could feel his orgasm approaching rapidly as he continued his frenzied stroking, the portrait of sin. 

Edward looked down at Oswald, flushed cheeks highlighting the constellation of freckles adorning his blissful face. He growled lowly, gripping Oswald's hips to pull him up and into his lap, holding Oswald up flush against his chest as he captured his lips. He thrust deeply and roughly, hips snapping forward with every move.

"Oh!"

Delighted by the show of strength, and enraptured by the intimacy, Oswald came between their sweat and blood slicked torsos with a cry, clinging tightly as Edward continued his thrusting. 

As Oswald clamped around him he bit into his shoulder with a cry of pleasure and thrust up into the other man twice more roughly before spilling within him. 

Oswald returned the gesture with a moan, leaving a twin mark on Edward's shoulder as he felt his cock pulse within him. 

Edward held Oswald close as he came down from bliss. His entire body was tingling with warmth and pleasure the likes of which he had never known. Slowly he laid them both down upon the bed, still wrapped in each other's embrace. He kissed the other man's forehead, a smile on his lips. "Wow~!"

Oswald had to chuckle at his exuberance but was too busy basking in the afterglow to reply with words. Instead, he traced Edward's chin with his fingers and slipped his arms around his neck with a consent sigh. 

Edward pulled the soiled covers over them and snuggled against him. "Disposing of Mr. Leonard will take some time," he murmured against his dark hair. "We made quite the mess of my apartment. It's a forensic nightmare." 

"I'll find you another apartment," he murmured, finally finding his voice. Oswald didn't usually stay for this part, the post-coital embrace, the pillow talk. 

He laughed, delighted. "Is that to be my role then? Consort to the king~?"

"What would you like to be?" he asked, slowly relaxing into Edward's arms. "You helped me, I'll help you."

"A partner," he replied softly. "I want to continue to help you where I can, Oswald. Though, I suspect you have little need for a scrawny bookish type in the mob. I assure you my intelligence is an asset to you, especially in your fight against Galavan." 

A surprised, but a pleasant smile spread across his lips. "I could use a right-hand man," he said thoughtfully, weighing the pros and cons in his head. Though Edward was not traditionally strong or intimidating he certainly had a gift that others didn't. 

He beamed, so  _ happy _ that Oswald was willing to give him a chance. He nuzzled against his neck, allowing his body to relax despite the residual twitchy energy still crackling through his veins like lightning. Whatever happened in that alleyway might’ve been a curse or a gift, but whatever strange twist of fate that brought Oswald to his side seemed to be exactly what Edward had needed to thrive. Oswald understood him, respected him, believed that he was more than the ‘weird riddle guy’. He resolved to give Oswald his every desire, to put him back on the throne of Gotham; perhaps if he proved his worthiness, Oswald would be inclined to continue this...very intriguing friendship. 

He turned his cheek, the sticky pull of the dried blood only a mild irritant as he brushed his lips against Oswald’s forehead. He allowed his eyes to close, letting his mind fill with the exciting future to come. 


End file.
